


patron saint of whores

by epithalamium, nerakrose



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, M/M, also angst, and everyone is super adorable, and rook writes rude things on t-shirts, and there are spoilers for steelhands, and thom is bossy, band!au, in which the dragons are motorcycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epithalamium/pseuds/epithalamium, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a regular night out in Thremedon for Thom and his brother's band - or as regular as it gets to be, with Greylace in personal attendance and multiple dates happening at once. And what's with the coming back from dead, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	patron saint of whores

**Author's Note:**

> Coverart and fic by nerakrose, illustrations by epithalamium. All the art can be found separately from the fic in the following locations:  
> coverart (without the fic title): [at deviantart](http://karnerose.deviantart.com/art/band-au-coverart-360171440)  
> illustrations: [at LiveJournal](http://epithalamium.livejournal.com/189726.html)
> 
> fic betaed by [mrs_jack_turner](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_jack_turner) ♥ all remaining mistakes are mine.

*

"Who's that?" a girl whispered, pointing at the stage where a young man was soundchecking the microphone, just as Hal attempted to make his way past with Roy in tow.

"That's _Thom_ , you know," another girl whispered back excitedly. "He's the manager! And he sleeps with the singer," she added, giggling.

"No way!" the first girl whispered back.

"Yes way," a third girl butted in. " _I've_ heard they're actually _brothers_ , would you believe?"

"Hal?" Roy asked, nudging him in the back. Hal realised he'd stopped.

"Oh, sorry, I was just -" he looked back at the group of girls, frowning.

"Last week Marietta told me that they're _twins_ , separated at _birth_ ," the third girl said, drawing the others close.

"Oh come on!" Hal burst out, startling the girls. "Twins? Honestly?" He scoffed. "Have you _looked_ at them?" he gestured. "And they're not even the same age!"

"Hal," Roy said again, nudging him, but Hal ignored him, crossing his arms.

"Maybe you should get your facts straight before you spread them," he said.

The girls stared at him. Their eyes flicked from Hal's face to his t-shirt to Roy, who was still standing right behind Hal and no doubt looking exasperated, though Hal hoped he was doing his best to look intimidating.

"And how do _you_ know?" the first girl asked, sceptical.

"Thom's a friend," Hal said. "Well - sort of. We had a, uh, thing. Once. In a bathroom - I mean. I knew him before they were famous -"

"Hal," Roy repeated, this time sounding rather stern.

"Excuse me," Hal said and fled the girls, dragging Roy with him, cheeks burning. "I didn't - I mean, it wasn't _that_ sort of thing -"

"Hal," Roy said for the fourth time. "I know."

"- we weren't really, it's just, he was nice to me and - you _know_?" Hal stopped. There was less of a throng right where they were standing, to the left of the stage - Balfour's spot, the poor sod, no one cared for him much, everyone was always packed in front of the centre, where Rook was, or to the right, where they could see Luvander and Ghislain in action. "What do you mean you know?"

"Well," Roy said, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "You're not a cheater, for one. For the second, you told me all about the encounter. You were, if I recall correctly, quite excited about having made a friend."

"Oh." Hal shrugged. "Well. They're not _twins_ ," he reiterated, making a face. "And I'm not sure I believe the brother thing at all - I suppose I could just ask Thom about it, but you know - how do you ask someone, 'So _are_ you banging your brother or is it just a PR stunt?'"

"You don't," Roy answered. "Look, Owen will be here soon, said I'd meet him at the bar. Do you want a drink?"

"Owen?" Hal said, face falling. "But isn't this... I mean, weren't we...?"

"Oh yes," Roy reassured him. "But pay attention to the fact that every single person in here except for me is a youngster. Which is why I bribed Owen to join me at the bar for the duration of the gig. It's for street cred, or whatever you call it - we'll be two old fogeys at the bar instead of just the one. I'm sure you'll score some hipster points out of that."

"I can't believe he agreed to it," Hal said.

"He doesn't know what concert this is," Roy said with an easy smile. "He will no doubt repay me the favour in some horrible fashion later. Did you want a drink?"

"I..." Hal's eyes flicked up to the stage and the crowd that was slowly amassing in front of it. "I'll skip out, thanks. I want a good spot." He drew Roy closer for a quick kiss. "I'll see you after the gig."

*

"Bastion damn it, Rook," Thom groaned, rubbing his face. "You can't change the bandname. Again."

"The hell I can't," Rook said, flinging his legs onto the coffe etable backstage. "It's my band, innit? I can call it whatever I want."

"And suddenly _Balfour's Fucking Balls_ is _the_ bandname?" Thom snapped. "What happened to _Diplomatic Relations_ or _The Esarina's Tits_ or, I don't know, _Patron Saint of Whores_? That one was real good, Rook, _what the fuck_?" Thom crossed his arms, glaring at Rook and his dirty boots.

" _Bastion Damnit Rook_ would be a good name too," Rook shrugged. "It's our image y'know."

"It's not good PR," Thom said through gritted teeth. "You're not J-Lo or Prince, goddammit, you're a filthy mollyrat ex-pilot who's had a band for all of five months and I can't even book you a fucking studio to record that fucking CD you're on about all the time, because _no one will fucking have you_. We've got no cred!" Thom yelled. "And you're supposed to be on stage like right fucking now -"

"Piss off," Rook said, but he had a lazy smile on his lips and looked for all in the world like a self-satisfied cat. "It'll work out, you see. Adamo's going to put in a good word for me with that old Mary, and _he_ 's got connections to Greylace -"

"You mean the 'Mary' who's currently standing at the bar with Adamo?" Thom said calmly. "That 'Mary'? Or is it a different 'Mary' we're talking about here? Because you know, Rook, if you don't get your arse on stage soon, no amount of good words is going to get you anywhere."

Rook narrowed his eyes. "Royston's here?"

Thom gestured in the vague direction of the bar and Rook got to his feet. He stomped over to the stage entrance and peered out.

"See?" Thom said. "Get your arse in gear."

"I can't," Rook said, backing away slowly. When he turned around, his eyes had a wild look in them.

" _John_ ," Thom started, now completely exasperated, and from the looks of it, _so done_ , "I -"

"Greylace is here."

"You're joking," Thom said flatly.

"I'm not," Rook said, grabbing Thom's collar and dragging him towards the entrance. "See?"

Greylace was in fact present - he seemed to be talking to someone at the bar, his back turned towards the stage. Yet there was no mistaking him; no one else but Caius Greylace had hair that white or wore clothes that on any other man, would've been outright weird. Thom decided to not waste brain cells trying to figure out what the hell he was wearing - though it seemed to be some kind of dress this time - and instead slowly turned towards Rook.

"Really." Thom stared at him. "You are telling me that you're afraid to go on stage because Greylace is in the room. You are telling me that your murderous, callous self doesn't _dare_ go on stage because Greylace might be watching."

Rook narrowed his eyes at Thom. "No," he said.

"Good," Thom said and pushed him. Rook stumbled onto stage, nearly crashing into Balfour who gave him an annoyed look.

"You," Rook snarled, turning towards Thom, but Thom only raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

"What the fuck man," Balfour mouthed at Rook. "Where you fuck been?"

"Shut up," Rook hissed at him and walked up to the microphone. His signature grin was now plastered on his face.

*

"Did you _hear_ those girls?" Toverre shuddered. "That's just unhygienic, really, and completely ridiculous to boot -"

"Mmhh," Laure replied, looking over his head. Her eyes were scanning the room for someone, but that wasn't going to keep Toverre from voicing his opinions.

"- I mean, would _you_ want to have sex with your own brother?" he continued. "Think of the - _oh_."

"Have you stopped obsessing over silly girl fantasies?" she asked, glancing back at Toverre and - frowning. "What's wrong? Did someone touch you?"

Toverre made a tiny, pathetic noise in the back of his throat.

"What?" She asked impatiently, but Toverre only shook his head. Laure followed his gaze until her eyes came to rest upon a scrawny little kid with blond-white hair. "Oh," she said. "I understand."

"Help," Toverre said.

"Shush, just go over and talk to him," Laure said. "He looks single."

"Not single!" Toverre's voice had reached such a high pitch that it was a wonder Laure could still hear him. Still, he had trained her well. Sort of. He jerked his head towards a burly blond guy in military uniform who was striding determinedly through the crowd. "So not single!" Then his eyes focused and he gave Laure a scolding look. "Now _really_ , that is not at all, oh my god, Laure, why do you think...?"

Laure sighed. "I'm gonna go find Owen," she said.

"No!" Toverre whispered urgently. "He's coming this way, do not leave me to the mercy of the angry lion that is his boyfriend why is he coming this way, Laure, help -"

"Don't be silly -"

"I heard he made Keith Richards _cry_ -"

"Hello," a pleasant voice said and Toverre looked cautiously out from behind Laure. Caius Greylace was standing right in front of them.

"Hello," Laure said amicably. "I'm Laurence and this is Toverre." She glanced down. "Don't mind him."

"How quaint," Greylace said. "My name is Caius Greylace, but you no doubt know that already and if you don't, I shall be terribly offended."

"Don't know it," Laure said and Toverre tugged on her sleeve angrily, spitting like a mad cat.

"Laure!" he hissed.

"Your...brother?" Greylace tilted his head and a lock of hair fell away from his face, revealing that his left eye was milky white.

"Ex-fiancé," Laure said. "Oh, hello," she added, when the burly blond guy joined them.

Burly blond guy grunted and handed Greylace a pink drink.

"I see why he's your ex-fiancé," Greylace said. "Gay as a maypole, that one."

"I think I saw Gaeth just over there," Toverre said and attempted to escape. Laure was holding on to his collar, so the attempt was short-lived.

"Gaeth isn't here," Laure said.

"Fascinating," Greylace said, peering at Toverre. "Mind if I ask what your interest in this concert is?"

"There isn't one," Toverre answered, gulping. "I'm just here because - because -"

"Because Gaeth asked you to come and then he fell sick and couldn't come and so you asked if I'd come with you instead so you could get Gaeth a t-shirt, only I'd asked Owen to the concert today as a _date_ -"

"I believe that is how it went, yes," Toverre said, miserable.

"Very good," Greylace said and handed them each a little card. "Please return these to Alcibiades -" Greylace indicated the burly man standing next to him, "- once you are done with them. Cards that have been defiled in any which way possible will not be accepted." He smiled sweetly and then floated away.

"Defiled?" Toverre asked nervously.

"You heard him," Alcibiades said gruffly before following Greylace. Toverre saw that Greylace was now striking up a conversation with the group of girls who'd been discussing the merits of being Thom for a day.

"That," Toverre said faintly, "was the owner of Greylace Records."

"Didn't look like someone important to me," Laure said. "Looked like a right nutter."

Toverre was staring at his card. "Can you believe one of the ticky boxes is 'A bit of X-Factor, if you squint'?"

*

"Who are you looking for?" Roy asked casually. For the fourth time.

"No one," Owen replied, turning to look towards the entrance once more.

"Really." Roy nudged him. "And what about the girl?"

"She's one of my students!" Owen protested.

"Sure didn't stop any of _my_ professors, back at uni," Roy commented. "Don't see why it should stop _you_."

"I have principles."

"Sure you do," Roy said amicably, but he was smirking. "But you asked her here."

Owen glared at him.

"Technically she asked me - she said something about learning the local culture and anyway," he said, glaring at the stage and the spectacle Rook was making of himself, "I only came _here_ because of the band, who I'm supposed to put in a good word for with you, so consider that done."

Roy made an assenting noise.

"And then you - tell me, who exactly invites his best friend along on a date with his boytoy?" Owen looked sideways at Roy.

"I do," Roy answered. "Our love is very pure, by the way. The stuff of legends and fairytales."

"Hrrmph."

"Your 'student' is here, Owen." Roy gestured with his beer bottle, doing nothing to hide his amusement at how fast Owen's head whipped aside to look.

Laure was indeed hurrying towards him, but most disconcerting was that right on her heels was that _kid_ who constantly hung around her - excellent papers, peculiar habits.

"Hello -" she stopped, eyes flickering towards Roy. "Uhm. Professor Adamo," she said. "I almost thought you'd stood me up."

"I did no such thing," Owen said. "Roy, this is Laure, whom you have already met, and this here, is Toverre. Two of my students," he said, stressing the word 'students' and giving Roy a pointed look.

"Hello," Roy said and smiled. "How adorable."

"Sorry about him, by the way," Laure said, indicating Toverre. "Though I see you have a friend too." She smiled sweetly at Roy. "Perhaps I should come back later, and let you two old men gossip." She raised an eyebrow.

Owen looked about ready to punch something. Roy looked like he was having the time of his life. Toverre was hiding behind Laure, whispering something furiously into her ear that sounded suspiciously like ' _This is the best way to ruin a date, Laure, you cannot say such things to him!_ '

"I will find you after the concert, if that's all right," Owen finally said.

"Peachy," Laure answered and smiled brightly. She lingered for a few seconds, then added, "I'll see you then, _professor_." and left, Toverre trailing behind her.

"I'm not old," Owen said to Roy the moment Laure was out of earshot.

"Oh dear," Roy said. "You've become delusional."

"You're older than me," Owen pointed out.

"Like I said." Roy sipped his beer. "Delusional." He glanced sideways at Owen, then grinned. "And quite enamoured, to boot."

"Shut up," he grumbled - and froze.

The crowd had parted ever so slightly, but it gave him a clear line of sight towards the merch stand and there was someone there, inspecting the t-shirts and shitty home-recorded demo tapes ( _tapes_! What decade did they think this was, the _nineties_?), who looked frighteningly familiar.

"Well, fuck a duckling," Owen said and stormed off towards the merch stand, thrusting his beer bottle at Roy, who only just managed to catch it before it dropped to the floor.

  


*

"Absolutely not," Caius said, holding one hand over his left ear as he spoke into his mobile phone. "Under no circumstances _ever_."

He paused.

"Tigers?"

"No tigers," Alcibiades said, alarmed, but Caius shushed him.

"Now, _really_ ," Caius said, tipping his head. "You do realise that the release party is tomorrow? Good. Now listen, I'm _all_ for the tigers, but there is simply no way, unless you are prepared to fuck everyone from the clerk to the fucking zoo owner, there is _no way_ that we can secure tigers on such short notice."

Caius held the phone away from his ear with a long-suffering sigh, as the person on the other end shouted.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked when there was a pause in the yelling. "Josette, this is what I hired _you_ for," he said tersely. "Your darling personality was simply a bonus. As well as your organisation and manipulation skills," he added as an afterthought. "Fix it."

He hung up and slid the phone into his sleeve and his arm into the crook of Alcibiades' arm.

"Now, where were we?" he asked, pursing his lips.

"We were about to leave," Alcibiades said, hopeful.

"No, that's not quite right." Caius looked at him fondly, petting his arm. "I do believe you're getting mixed up, love."

"Well then, I'm having another beer," Alcibiades said stubbornly. "Do you want another drink?" he added.

"No thank -" Caius scanned the crowd, his eyes widening in glee as they fastened upon a certain man at the bar. "Actually, yes. I would _love_ a drink." He smirked. "I will get it myself. Be a darling and send Josette a text for me - tell her that I've scored us a pyrotechnic for tomorrow's release party."

Alcibiades followed Caius' gaze. "That man's not a _pyrotechnic_ ," he said. "He builds _bombs_. For the _army_."

"All the more exciting," Caius said, the barest hint of glee in his voice, as he tugged Alcibiades with him. "He's worked for me before, you know," he said lightly. "Well, technically, anyway. He's got a certain flair for dramatics."

He strode right up to Royston and gave him one of his most polite smiles.

"Hello, dear," Caius said, extending his hand. Royston shook it warily.

"Royston," Alcibiades said.

"Oh," Royston said. "I wasn't expecting to see you here, General Alcibiades." He blinked, but smiled. "I wasn't aware that you two knew each other."

"You underestimate us," Caius said, smiling sweetly. "That is a long story, and I'm sure I'll treat you to it soon enough. It is very exciting, if I have to say so myself, and includes plots of murder, political intrigue and tigers. _And_ my _friend_ the general, of course, who will no doubt tell you a much tamer version."

Alcibiades shrugged helplessly when Royston looked to him for confirmation. "It was more like the plot of a Hugh Grant movie," he said. "Orange juice and all. Minus flatmate."

"Don't listen to him," Caius told Royston. "My life is nothing but thrilling and I will not have you ruin that illusion," he chided. Alcibiades only shook his head in fond exasperation. "Now," Caius said, turning his good eye on Royston. "I have a business proposal."

*

Short of striding out onto stage and hauling Rook back by force, Thom wasn't going to get him off stage anytime soon, so he let him be. He could parade out there all he wanted, flirt with the girls and sign his name on their tits and shirts and butts all he wanted - Thom had learned that things ran much smoother backstage when Rook wasn't in the way.

"That goes over there," Thom directed without looking as he searched through his messenger bag for the finalisation of the paperwork with the venue.

"Buzzkill," Luvander complained, but Balfour packed his things quietly. Ghislain had finished disassembling his drumkit - or _almost_ finished, at this point he was only dragging it out to have an excuse to remain shirtless for another while.

"I'll help you with the cables if you need it," Balfour offered, but Luvander harrumphed. Ghislain started moving the heavy things out to the van and the evening had officially progressed into 'that part where Ghislain shows off his muscles to Luvander and Luvander pretends not to notice while Balfour is supremely uncomfortable and Thom mentally weighs the options of killing _Rook's_ buzz to escape the situation'.

Thom went with the option of ignoring all three of them, leafing through papers. He vaguely heard someone knock on the back entrance and come in, he registered on some level that Luvander was loudly welcoming the intruder and then -

There was silence.

He looked up. Adamo was the intruder, but what was more was the guy standing next to him whom Luvander, Ghislain and Balfour were staring at more or less slack-jawed.

"Guess who I found," Adamo said, pleased as punch, nudging Raphael forward. He was grinning, but not speaking, and it was only when Ghislain dropped the amp in his arms (Thom winced inwardly, praying that it had not broken) and picked up Raphael for a tight hug, that he uttered a sound. It was pathetic and sounded like "oomph!".

"I'm too wasted for this reality," Luvander eventually said, eyeing the bottle in his hand. Then Ghislain let go of Raphael, who'd turned blue in the face.

Rook chose that moment to come prancing in from the stage, but he too stopped short and stared. "What the fuck?" he demanded. "I saw you fucking fall out of the sky you fucktard and if you make one goddamn _angel joke_ , I will punch you in the face. You supposed to be fucking _dead_."

"I heard you needed keyboards," Raphael said, shrugging, even though everyone in the room knew he couldn't play a single instrument.

Rook punched his shoulder.

"I got better." He shrugged again, in reply to Rook's comment from before. "I hear you call yourself Rook these days. Fancy that."

"Raphael," Adamo said, a bit of steel creeping into his tone.

Balfour was the only one still staring. His hands trembled.

"Raphael?" he said, as if he'd not spoken that name for months. He likely hadn't.

"Uh, yeah," Raphael said, his eyes first dropping to the floor, then focused on Balfour. "I kinda didn't die."

"I see that," Balfour said, white in the face.

"What the hell happened?" Rook said, his hands balled into fists. "Where the fuck have you fucking _been_?"

Raphael's eyes levelled on Rook. "In captivity," he said plainly. "Same as you, I hear. I got away. Took a long fucking time to make my way back to civilisation, if you must know."

"Only got into town today," Adamo added. "Hitched a ride on a truck, he tells me."

"Got anywhere to stay?" Luvander asked.

Raphael shrugged.

"Yes," Balfour answered, staring hard at Raphael. "He's got a place to stay." His mouth had formed a thin line.

Rook opened his mouth, but Thom stepped on his foot. "No," he hissed at him, earning a glare in return.

Balfour and Raphael were at opposite sides of the room. Neither had moved and neither had stopped staring at the other. Adamo cleared his throat.

"I've got to go, boys - you, hit me up some time," he said to Raphael. "I've got coffee."

"Sure thing, man," Raphael answered. Then, "you still got my ride in storage?"

"I've got her," Balfour said, then crossed the room and grabbed Raphael's elbow, practically manhandling him outside. "Come on."

"I told you Balfour's got balls," Rook said once they'd left and Thom elbowed him in the stomach.

"Is anyone else incredibly horny from all the UST that just occurred in this room?" Luvander asked, eyeing up Ghislain.

"Jesus fucking christ," Thom said.

*

*

"No," Thom said, waving papers in Rook's face. "NO."

"I'm horny," Rook countered.

"I've work to finish!" Thom glared. "If you want to, A, get paid and B, perform at that venue again, you're going to let me finish this shit up and then find a way to get Balfour's guitar home because the idiot fucking left it and Ghislain already left with the fucking van -"

"Get on the bike," Rook said.

"Contrary to popular belief, my life does not revolve around you or your needs," Thom said. Rook raised an eyebrow and Thom coloured ever so slightly. "I'll take the tram when I'm done here."

"Just get on the fucking bike," Rook said, patience wearing thin. "I've had enough drama for the night and I'd rather not think about what Balfour and Raphael are doing or whether Ghislain and Luvander are doing it in the van again and if you're so fucking concerned about the guitar, just fucking _take it along_."

Thom closed his eyes and inhaled, then exhaled. Slowly.

" _Hilary_ ," Rook said and Thom's eyes flew open. "You're not the only one who knows how to use names as weapons," Rook said, smug satisfaction on his face. "Get. On. The. Bike."

The bunched up papers in Thom's hand weighed heavily. He eyed the bike. "You didn't put rocket fuel in her again, did you?"

Rook rolled his eyes. "No."

Thom sighed. "Gimme a minute," he said and disappeared inside. When he reappeared, he had Balfour's guitar case strapped to his back and his messenger bag dangling from his hand. Rook took the bag without a word and slung it over himself.

"Here," he said and thrust his helmet at Thom, who knew better than to argue and pulled it over his head.

He lingered half a second, then drew in a deep breath and swung up behind Rook, arms wrapping around his waist, and then they were off. "I've still got the paperwork," Thom yelled at him.

"Can't hear ya," Rook yelled back and Thom snorted. Of course not. He tightened his arms around Rook and pressed closer, remembering to follow Rook's movements as he wove in and out of traffic and took sharp turns, going deeper into the bowels of the city, to the very edge of Molly.

*

"Ahh, thank you, dear," Caius said, accepting the steaming mug of tea that Alcibiades handed him. He inhaled deeply and then sighed, shoulders relaxing. "This line of work can be so tiring."

"You insisted," Alcibiades said, dropping a stack of cards onto the table next. "Your cards."

"I see that." Caius smiled fondly. "Be a dear and read them to me."

Alcibiades eyed the cards with distaste. "Must I?"

"Please." Caius closed his eyes dreamily, the steam from his tea swirling up past his face. Alcibiades stared at him, then made a disgruntled noise and went to fetch a clean stats sheet and a pen. "You can use my laptop," Caius called after him, but Alcibiades ignored him and returned with his pen and paper.

"I don't like your laptop," he said. "It hisses at me."

"Don't be silly." Caius picked up his spoon and licked it before stirring sugar into his tea. Alcibiades sat down opposite him, pointedly flattening the sheet of paper on the table and putting the pen next to it. "You only have to be polite to it and it will be polite to you. This hissing business is entirely your own fault."

"It _hisses_ ," Alcibiades said.

"Well, you growl at it, so I don't know what you're expecting."

Alcibiades didn't dignify that with an answer and instead picked up the first card from the stack and started copying over the stats. The card turnover for that night's gig had been higher than normal, which was interesting, and possibly a good sign.

"This one's got 'feels like Batman' ticked off," Alcibiades commented. "First time that's happened."

"Oh?" Caius tilted his head. "That _is_ interesting."

"I suppose." Alcibiades frowned at the card. "Same card's got 'Got oomph!', 'Not enough kittens' and 'Extremely arousing' ticked off as well."

"I thought it might."

"Why do we even have a category called 'Not enough kittens?'"

"Oh, that one's for the hipster crowd," Caius answered dismissively. He sipped his tea. "What are your opinions?"

"Er." Alcibiades frowned. He looked at the cards and the stats sheet, then back at Caius. "Poppycock," he eventually said. "Absolute and utter nonsensical _crap_."

"Mmmh," Caius said, offering neither agreement nor comment.

"It does appear to be profitable," Alcibiades then said.

"Dear, I know." Caius sipped his tea again. "Everyone wants a piece of the air corps and they've gone and made themselves accessible. Naturally they are popular."

Alcibiades made a noise.

"Not everyone lives by your principles, love. And anyway, I would think they needed another livelihood. The Esar isn't going to hire them again. War heroes and all, they're officially retired." Caius paused. "What am I saying," he chided himself. "They have careers - every single one of them. Well, except for that savage, _Rook_."

"You're cute when you scrunch up your nose," Alcibiades said. He was nearly finished with the cards.

"The man looked like he'd rolled on the floor and dressed in whatever stuck to him," Caius said disdainfully. "You would think that his manager would dress him better, but the poor kid doesn't do much better himself." He sighed. "If I were to sign them, drastic changes would be needed in the wardrobe department. Control would have to be asserted."

"Yeah, right." Alcibiades ticked off the last few boxes and then looked over the sheet. "The stats are all over the place."

"Of course. Let me see." Caius put aside his tea. "Ohh, delicious. We can work with this." A gleeful tone had snuck into his voice.

"Should I run you a bath?" Alcibiades asked, rising from the table. He gathered the cards and filed them away in a drawer.

"No thank you, I am not in the mood. Get the bed ready, darling, and I'll join you shortly." Caius had picked up Alcibiades' pen and was scribbling in the margins of the stat sheet. "Tomorrow - oh, no, not tomorrow, there's that blasted release party - the day _after_ tomorrow, then -"

But Alcibiades had already left the room, so Caius only made a frustrated noise and turned the sheet over for more scribbling.

"Bed's ready!" Alcibiades called from the bedroom.

"One minute!" Caius called back. He contemplated the sheet and his notes and made corrections and added more notes and got out a file case and more paper and continued writing.

"Ten minutes," Alcibiades said when Caius finally entered the bedroom.

"Must you," Caius sighed, carefully undoing the clasps of his dress.

"You said _one_ ," Alcibiades complained and then yawned.

Caius gave him a soft look. "I'm sorry," he said, stepping out of the dress. "I didn't mean to keep you up."

"'s all right," he grumbled and yawned again, this time covering his mouth. "What did you think about the gig, by the way? You never said."

"It was very uncouth," Caius said, folding his clothing neatly over the back of a chair. "I liked it. It was very crude, of course, and I cannot for the life of me see what's so appealing about the savage that is Rook, but he is quite popular with the female crowd -"

"What of the music?"

"It was all right." The corner of Caius' mouth twitched. "Impossible to classify, but charming in a very garageband way. Nice punk undertones, could use more guitars, perhaps, and someone who knows how to write lyrics." Caius slipped his nightshirt on swiftly and crawled into bed. Alcibiades automatically tugged him closer. "Of course, they could decide to go in a completely different direction."

"Mmmh," Alcibiades grunted.

"Provided that I sign them, of course, which I am by the way still terribly undecided on - _oh_." Caius stopped talking when Alcibiades started snoring quietly. "Well, goodnight." He looked up at Alcibiades' face and sighed, burrowing deeper under the blankets.

*

"Are those my books?"

"Yeah - all your French lit and the old Ramanthine stuff. The others are in storage." Balfour shrugged. "Didn't have space for them all here."

Raphael was running a finger over the spines, tracing the golden lettering and the soft leather. "That's all right," he said lightly. "Can't have your flat being some sort of shrine for me, can we?"

"It's not," Balfour said defensively. "It's just - your things and, there was nowhere -"

"Relax." Raphael turned to face him. He looked Balfour straight into the eyes and then, they flickered up to look at something just past Balfour's shoulder. "Ah, you have a - friend?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Flatmate," Balfour said, turning. "Hello, Troius. Did we wake you?"

"Wasn't sleeping," Troius answered, peering curiously at Raphael. Then his eyes widened. "Oh."

"Mmmh." Raphael smirked. Troius looked between him and Balfour, clearly trying to discern what was going on. "Run along," Raphael said. "I believe Balfour and I have quite a lot of catching up to do."

"I - of course." Troius glanced at Balfour briefly, but then retreated the way he'd come from. He shut the door behind him hard.

"Well," Balfour said, scrubbing his hand through his hair awkwardly. "Do you want something to drink?"

"I'm good." Raphael stepped away from the bookcase at last, walking over to Balfour who hadn't strayed far from the hall. He touched his fingertips to Balfour's cheek. "And you?"

"I'm better," he answered. Swallowed. "It's been hard, you know."

"I know." And then Raphael smiled, bright and brilliant and slightly unhinged, but Balfour couldn't help but smile back.

"Do you want the grand tour?" He asked, even if that wasn't at all what he wanted, but it was strange - having him back. Standing in this flat.

"Nah. Just show me the bedroom."

"This way." Balfour took Raphael's hand, the one touching his cheek, and led him past the sofa and to a door in the far wall. Raphael's hand was warm and rough. "We should go out for a ride tomorrow," he said, casually, knowing it was everything but.

*

The flat was completely dark, save for the streetlights filtering through the curtains and the red glow of Thom's cigarette. His skin felt clammy, now, and he contemplated burrowing under the blankets, but he wanted to finish his cigarette first.

Rook's footsteps sounded on the floorboards as he returned from the bathroom, all cleaned up now. "Smoking's not good for you," he said and crawled into bed, right over the rumpled sheets and snatched Thom's cigarette for a drag.

"'s'not good for you either," Thom said and reappropriated it. There was a beat of silence and then Thom took a deep drag of the cigarette. He let the smoke seep slowly out of his mouth as he stubbed it out.

"Your hair came loose," Rook observed and Thom briefly wondered how he could see it in the dark, then remembered. Rook's sight was good and he got used to the dark quickly, unlike Thom who was basically blind at night. Not to mention he wasn't wearing his glasses, which were probably somewhere on the floor.

"It's what happens when you engage in vigorous sex," Thom answered lightly. "And when you can't keep your hands from my hair." He tugged on the hairtie and pulled it out, letting his hair fall freely over his shoulders. It was still slightly moist from his shower that morning, and the scent of fruity shampoo spread in the bedroom. "I think you'd look nice with your hair tied back every now and then," he added.

"Nah," Rook said and then his nose was behind Thom's ear and his lips on Thom's neck.

"So, Raphael came back," Thom said, which turned out to be the wrong thing to say because Rook pulled back and Thom's neck felt cold. "Are you-"

"Thinking about whether any of the others could've survived?" Rook cut off. "I'm not fucking thinking anyfuckingthing."

"I was going to ask if you are all right," Thom amended, softly.

Rook was quiet for so long that Thom started thinking about having another cigarette. "I'm here, ain't I?" Rook's voice was rough. "And that's all, you get it?"

"Mmmhh." Thom groped around on the nightstand, looking for his pack of cigarettes. His fingertips grazed the lighter and accidentally pushed it onto the floor. "Balls." He grabbed the pack, but without the lighter and no way to find it again - they really should replace that broken light bulb, it'd been two months now - it was hardly any use.

"Here." Rook leaned over Thom and over the edge of the bed and snatched up the lighter. He put it into Thom's palm.

"Thanks." Thom slid out a cigarette and put it between his lips. And then, because he was feeling generous, added, "Greylace took my business card." He lit the cigarette, stealing a glance at Rook's face, on which was barely concealed hope. It was almost childish, or would've been, if Rook wasn't so full of bitterness. If his face wasn't so scarred and his eyes so hard.

"Did he."

"Of course, we don't know if anything will come of it," Thom said, this time putting the lighter into the cigarette pack before putting it away.

"Of course," Rook snorted.

Thom thought briefly about how much work he was actually putting into this, how much fucking networking and sucking up and intimidating (well, that was _one_ time) and sticking by Rook, sticking by _all_ of them and sticking _up_ for them, and he thought about all the fucking negotiations and calls with venues and studios and record companies and producers and mixers and his old friend from uni who was a PR manager and had fucking left him dry and hanging when it mattered and set him back what felt like months, he thought about telling Rook all of this, thought about screaming at him -

But he didn't. He inhaled and then exhaled, slowly, and watched the hazy, blue-grey smoke in the darkness and felt Rook's heat next to him.

"Suck my dick," he said, instead of 'I put myself out there for you every day and you better fucking appreciate it'.

Rook snorted again, but then he laughed. "Don't you think I fucking -" he started, but then shook his head. "Thom," he said, but quieted again. The silence stretched between them.

"It's not going to suck itself, you know," Thom said, forcing a flippant tone.

"I know."

Rook shifted, supporting his hands on both sides of Thom, and Thom pretended the words were the answer that he wanted. He felt a chill crawl up his spine as Rook's hot breath wafted over his stomach.

"Move," Rook said and Thom slid down, clumsily, stubbing out his cigarette with one hand.

  


_fin._

  



End file.
